Алексей Морокин, читает Тимофей Стрельцов - Сторона потребности - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

- I absorb the sobs of everyday life mixed with electronics, because you like me exactly what others usually disdain.

My ascent into the plastic pockets of missed calls and the thinnest echo begins.

The encoded samples contain non-random sounds that break through the thinnest fabric of daily contempt and decay. Through the warm words “This is not the only way,” their ghostly sweaty bodies grow cold.

“Relationships with you are like half-drunk attempts to climb a steep slope in an old car - as soon as I allowed myself to stop, I immediately, rapidly and destructively, rolled back with consequences.

My invisible caravan of wrong actions stretches across the thoughtless desert, and in the meantime, the long-awaited armies of insatiable fighters are enthusiastically entering into someone’s drooping cities, trampling in the dust the defeatist conscript flags at the very gates. This caravan has no goal, except for the tired sacks on its back, no supplies, except for the empty barrels of conscience, no followers and leaders, except weak-willed oxen with loving deep-sea eyes, no map, except the flaming skies behind every horizon, no lips beckoning to the vaunted end of the world. , except for the dissolved cities left burned.

And in this night, whose immeasurable youth is supported by rare trees, my caravan got lost again, having mistakenly laid out the daily route “The side of abundance - the side of need” in the morning. “The Center always gives ridiculous coordinates! They put this ignoramus in charge of us,” the drivers will complain by the fire, grumblingly turning to sleep. Everything is calm on the ground, only the coals gleam with such a dull and cunning look that you want to use your fingers to slightly clear their faces, covered with air and ash.

- Run away from me in circles if you still believe that danger comes with a support group. While you are worried, not daring to say “Goodbye” in this aging attempt to tie me in a knot around your emasculated neck, the second time will tell you that whores do not say goodbye with air kisses. So this attempt to surprise faded in the sun with an olive and feeble “Bye.”

My walls, along which I led my caravans, exhausting somewhat dubious reserves of tenderness and wasting dreams in order to support fires, the dense walls suddenly ended, and I saw how the path of the caravan replaced its unclear goal. There is no sun behind the clouds, no untouched oases, just as there is no untrodden hot sand under my feet. The caravan thinned out, scattered in detail into principalities serving their own purposes. And the silver string of diminished tides of fierce faith in the horizon above weakened on the driver’s only instrument. Through the dark words “This is not the only way,” I hear the once again quickening pulse of transparent and dense liters of oxygen timidly filling the lungs of my sails.

My multi-layered day began with good music, smiling at yesterday with a languid slap in the face.

02/10/2010